


great oaks from little acorns grow

by Diamantspitzhacke (RedSoleWrites)



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Not Canon Compliant, Snowball Fight, Training Montage, for once this is a happy fic, i'm just trying to make a happy family goddammit, which is a change for me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:28:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27919741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedSoleWrites/pseuds/Diamantspitzhacke
Summary: Tommy is desperate for training after his disastrous duel with Dream.And, well, Technoblade is on the server now.AKA the Rocky Training Montage fic
Relationships: Dave | Technoblade & TommyInnit
Comments: 27
Kudos: 258





	great oaks from little acorns grow

**Author's Note:**

> yes this was called the rocky training montage fic in my notes
> 
> I originally only wrote this to write a fight scene  
> and then, like always, it expanded very far.

Techno is tilling his fields when Tommy first asks the question. With sweat on his brow and his cloak abandoned at the doorway, he paints a much less impressive figure than usual. Still, the ease with which he pulls his netherite hoe through the thick soil emphasizes his strength and wealth. Technoblade could never be mistaken for a common farmer. His is the garb of a king, even as he stands amidst the dirt and potatoes.

“Technoblade, I need you to train me.”

Alright, so it’s less of a question and more of a demand, but Techno is willing to ignore the bossiness for the sake of the intriguing nature of Tommy’s statement.

“Train you in what?”

Tommy scoffs. “Come _on_ Blade, what do you think? Building? Parkour? _Potato farming_?”

“Hey, don’t knock the potatoes.”

“I need you to train me in battle.”

Techno hums consideringly. He can practically taste the anticipation in the air as Tommy leans forward to hear his response.

“No.”

He turns away from his brother, refocusing on his crops. Tommy ignores this clear dismissal and sits down in front of Techno – _directly on his potatoes_ – and pleads, “Come on, Techno. Please?”

Techno doesn’t respond, too busy trying to glare Tommy up and away from his precious farm.

“Please?”

Techno glares harder. His brother lifts his hands in submission, standing up again and dislodging even more of his crops as he takes his leave.

He sighs. Hopefully that will be the end of that.

That is not the end of it.

Suddenly, Tommy is dogging his every move, following Techno everywhere and begging him for lessons constantly. He’d almost be impressed by the kid’s tenacity if he wasn’t the one on the receiving end of his stubbornness.

When he’s out with his horses: “Come on, Techno, a few lessons couldn’t hurt.”

When he’s in the Nether searching for debris: “I really think this is an excellent idea for everyone involved.”

When he’s farming his potatoes: “Please, Technoblade, for your favorite little brother?”

Tommy even follows him to his secret base and pokes at Hubert while Techno hammers an enchantment into his helmet. The pleading doesn’t stop, incessant and audible over the volume of the crash of metal-on-metal. He’d hoped that the banging would drown Tommy out, but no. Nothing can be louder than Tommy Innit. What a shame.

Techno finishes the fine filigree work and holds the mallet out behind him. When nothing happens, he turns fully to face the teen, one eyebrow raised. “Well?”

Tommy brightens, though with a confused expression, and reaches for the tool. Techno hands it over easily and is rewarded with a satisfying _thump_ as Tommy immediately drops it to the floor, almost falling with it. “What the hell, man? That shit’s _heavy_.”

“Well, sure it is. I need the leverage to properly enchant the armor, especially the hard ones like netherite.”

“Okay, I’m not here for a science lesson, Techno. I came here because I need you to train me.”

“I mean, if you can’t even hold a little hammer,” Techno says conversationally, bending to pick up the tool from the floor, “then what makes you think you can handle my training?” He casually flips the hammer in his hand for emphasis.

Tommy’s expression drops again. He hunches in on himself a bit, making his six-foot-three frame look impossibly young.

Really, that’s Techno’s main problem with it. Tommy is young. He’s a child. He should be focusing on dumb teenager things, like girls, or school, or anything except how to fight a war. He doesn’t want his little brother to turn into him. Tommy deserves better than that, even if he doesn’t realize it. Techno will not be complicit in creating a child soldier, not if he can help it.

“I’m sorry, Tommy, but clearly you’re not suited for this. Come back when you’re actually ready to battle instead of play-fight during recess.”

Curling even smaller, Tommy nods. Techno hates seeing him like this, hates knowing he did this to his little brother, but it’s far better than the alternative. If it takes hurting some feelings to prevent his brother from getting hurt far worse, Techno would do it again in a heartbeat.

Slowly, dejectedly, Tommy makes his way to the exit out of Techno’s base. Before he steps out, he turns his head slightly to the pig-masked man, as he whispers, “I just didn’t want things to end like the duel did.”

Wait. What?

“Hold on.” Techno stops his brother before he leaves. “What was that?”

Tommy looks at his, confused. “I said I didn’t want things to end like the duel.”

“That. What duel, Tommy?”

“You mean you didn’t know?”

“Know about what?”

“Listen, we had to get L’Manberg somehow. There’s already been one war.”

Techno storms forward, grasping Tommy by the shoulders. “What do you mean there’s already been a war?”

And thus Techno is subjected to a long and drawn-out explanation of how his older brother roped his younger brother into a full-blown war for their nation’s independence. How they lost in the end because of a betrayal from one of their own, how Tommy died there, and how Tommy offered himself up for a duel in exchange for their independence. How Tommy lost, and died, and gave up his most prized possessions anyways for the sake of everybody.

How Tommy has been a soldier since long before Techno arrived.

It takes everything in Techno not to storm off and wring Wilbur’s neck for this. For turning Tommy from a carefree kid into a serious, battle-scarred veteran.

This is unacceptable.

But now Techno also understands Tommy’s desperate desire for training. He is haunted by his previous failure. And with another war looming over their heads, he cannot afford another one like it.

“Alright,” Technoblade concedes. “I’ll teach you.”

As Technoblade strides outside at dawn to their agreed-upon meeting place, he sees Tommy already there. From the looks of it, he’s been here for a while. Tommy is wearing a path into the grass with all his pacing.

“You sure you wanna waste your energy on that before the fight even starts?” Techno teases.

Tommy’s head shoots up, a wild and manic grin lighting up his face. “Technoblade! My man! My favorite person!”

“Yeah, yeah. Save it for later, yeah? I wanna see how well you fight already. Where you’re at, what you know, the many bad habits you surely have, all of that. That way, I know what to teach you later.”

“Sure, sure. And I will have you know that I have absolutely zero bad habits. Perfect form, right here!”

Techno just raises an eyebrow at that. “Sure. Anyways. I want to see you at your best. Don’t go easy on me, I can take it. All-out.”

He hands Tommy a wooden sword, watching as the teen twirls it unnecessarily. _Already something to unlearn._

Stance wide, sword held loosely at his side, shield stowed away for later, armorless, Techno waits to see what Tommy does. He’s squared up, a decent amount of space between them.

Tommy doesn’t move. _Is he trying to catch him off guard?_

Well, no matter. If Tommy won’t move, then Techno will start this bout.

Techno goes from statue-still to a flurry of movement without warning, pushing off the ground and launching himself at Tommy, sword already raised. Tommy squeaks in surprise. He tries to raise his sword to block Techno, but it’s not enough. Techno easily bats it aside with a flick of his wrist, neatly disarming Tommy and twirling around.

He comes to a sudden halt next to his brother, sword held neatly in front of his throat. Tommy’s eyes are huge. Techno isn’t even breathing heavily.

It is over in seconds.

With a moment to collect himself, Tommy pushes the sword away from his exposed and vulnerable neck. “Woah, man, what the hell? I wasn’t ready? Where was the ‘three two one go?’”

“First rule of battle, Tommy. There’s no countdown. The enemy won’t wait for you to tie your shoelaces.”

“I’m not wearing shoelaces.”

“They’ll attack without warning. You have to be ready at any moment.”

Tommy takes a deep breath, retrieving his sword from the ground next to him. His humiliating first defeat seems to have done nothing to reduce his enthusiasm. He pulls himself into an actual prepared stance, holding his sword tightly in front of him with both hands.

_Improvement._

Techno returns to his spot in front of him, casually readjusting his grip.

“Again.”

This time, Tommy makes the first move. With a loud shout, he sprints forward at the pink-haired man, his sword pulled high at his side. As he nears, he raises it above his head before slashing down heavily.

Technoblade simply steps aside.

Unbalanced, Tommy stumbles past Techno. All it takes is a simple _thwack_ on the back with the hilt of his sword and he tumbles to the ground.

“Second rule. Don’t telegraph your actions like that. If your enemy can tell what you’re doing before you do it, you’ve already lost. They get time to plan and counter. You never want to give them that advantage.”

“See, Techno, you’re saying these words, but that’s not properly explaining it.”

Techno sighs. “Alright, so. When you ran at me, you had your sword up for ages before you actually swung. That told me exactly what you were going to do. Which meant that I knew that all I had to do was move out of the way and you were done for.”

Tommy pushes himself to his feet. “Alright, okay.” He walks back over to his starting position.

Techno switches hands. “Again.”

Tommy takes the first move again, running forward once more. This time, he doesn’t telegraph his every move, but his swings are sloppy, overcommitted. He swings from the right, attempting a slash across Techno’s chest, which Techno easily blocks. He twists his sword and Tommy’s is shunted to the side.

As Tommy struggles to regain control of his weapon, his entire body is left wide open. Techno whacks him solidly on his left shoulder. “Down again.”

“Okay, what the fuck was that time?”

“You were too committed to that swing. It was easy to block. You focused too much on it, and so when it went wrong, you were forced to focus entirely on fixing that. Which meant you _weren’t_ focused on defending yourself.”

Tommy groans obnoxiously.

“Again.”

Their morning continues along that same pattern. Techno calls for them to fight, Tommy tries, lasts a move or two, then inevitably loses. Over and over. Techno’s lost count of how many bouts they’ve run. Every time, Tommy’s failure results in a quick correction from Techno, a comment on where he went wrong.

“You’re holding your sword too tightly.”

“Now not tight enough.”

“Your feet are too close together. I could tip you over with a nudge.”

“Keep track of where the sharp edge of the blade is pointed.”

“Why are you screaming at me when we fight? You’re just wasting breath.”

“Those sword-locking moments? They’re not as cool as the movies. Avoid them.”

“See, here you’re just weak.”

“I have the high ground.”

“You’re not giving yourself proper leverage.”

“I don’t even know what you’re going for there.”

By the time noon rolls around, the sun beating high above the pair of brothers, Tommy is collapsed on the ground, sweating through his shirt and panting hard. Techno stands above him, barely a hint of perspiration on his forehead.

“Come on Tommy, up you go.”

“Nope! No. No, I think I shall just lay here for the rest of my life and die in peace.”

“Drama queen.”

“This is perfectly justified, thank you very much.”

Techno holds out a hand. “Come on. Niki’s got fresh bread today. If you’re nice to her and act pitiful enough, I’m sure she can make you something with it.”

Grasping the offered hand up, Tommy groans loudly. “I don’t even have to act, Techno, that’s how bad you’ve beaten me. Look!” He points to a random spot on his arm. “This is gonna bruise tomorrow, Blade, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Listen, if you wanna get good, you’ve got to get beaten up in the process. No pain, no gain.”

“Is that another Sun Tzu quote of yours?” Tommy snorts.

“Nah. That one is a certified frat bro quote.”

Tommy laughs, though that quickly turns to a moan of pain. “Oh, fuck, my ribs, Techno, look what you’ve done to me.”

“You’ll be fine, you big baby.”

“Say that again, bitch, I dare you!”

The next day, Techno literally has to drag Tommy out of bed for training, his brother complaining all the way. He’s bruised in many places, but, well. Such is life. Tommy can just deal with it.

Techno leads them to a different clearing this time, one with straw dummies set up at one end of it. He tosses Tommy his sword again, though he makes no move to unsheathe his own.

With confusion evident on his face, Tommy swishes the sword in the air in front of him. “What’s up, Blade? Too afraid to take me on this time?”

“Too afraid to break you after that performance yesterday, more like.” Techno turns away to fiddle with one of the dummies. He can hear pounding footsteps behind him and without looking he darts a hand out and grabs Tommy’s wrist before he can strike him with the sword. Tommy twists in his grip, scrabbling to release the tight hold on his arm, but Techno’s fingers are sure, and he snatches the sword right out of Tommy’s hand and thwaps him on the head with it first.

“Ow – hey!”

“That’s what you get for trying to attack someone with their back turned.”

Tommy smirks. “You did say yesterday that you had to be prepared for an attack at any time.”

Techno bops him on the head again. “And that’s for sass.” He lets Tommy go, pointing the sword at the dummies. “Until further notice, you’re practicing on a target that won’t block you or kick your ass.”

“Aww, but _Techno_!”

“Listen, I’m the one in charge here, and when I say you need to practice on the dummy, you practice on the dummy.”

“Fine,” Tommy grits out. He stomps over to the target and immediately starts hacking away at it. It’s clear that he’s releasing his frustration at fighting the dummy out on the poor thing. But his technique is so poor that the dummy could probably take hours of this kind of beating without bursting a single stitch. Techno’s half disappointed.

“Swing from your shoulders,” he calls. He sits down and pulls out a book and quill, writing notes and comments for his brother as he goes.

_Follow-through needs work_

_Very little elegance in swings_

_Needs more variance in angles – lots of up and down_

_Isn’t moving his feet_

_Knees aren’t bent_

_Grip is still off_

_Get him to try single hand?_

_Better posture needed_

_Eyes can’t wander!_

_Seriously, who taught this kid anything?_

Once he thinks he has enough down, he has Tommy move on to axe combat, where he sees much of the same. Tommy uses the axe more like he’s chopping down a tree and less like he’s attacking a living, breathing target. He can’t get the angle of the axe head quite right; his grip keeps slipping around the handle and screwing up his leverage. His form is completely wrong for this weapon, and Techno can do nothing but shake his head and sigh in disappointment, writing his thoughts down.

Bows are next, and Techno is mildly pleased to see that Tommy at least hits the target consistently. His aim is a little bit left-leaning and he can’t quite get his vertical angle correct, but he knows to make adjustments to his aim and properly hold his bow. This part needs less work, just fine-tuning and practice. Techno’s already planning to force Tommy to try a bunch of trick shots later on for practice. That comes later though. For now, crossbows.

Crossbows come less easily to Tommy than their simpler cousin. He struggles to nock them quickly and efficiently; Techno thinks he’s confused by the complex mechanism. His aim is a little worse here, his stance is trying too hard to be that of a proper archer’s, and his long-distance shots are practically a lost cause. Techno makes more notes and moves on.

With a shield in hand, Tommy is awkward and clumsy. The bulky buffer hinders him more than it helps him. Techno writes it down as a major point to focus on and moves Tommy on before he can get too distracted or disheartened.

He claps his hands together, setting the notebook down on the ground as he stands up. “Alright! So, we’re done with that.”

“Yes!” Tommy cheers, pumping his fist in the air and falling to the floor.

“Now it’s on to the fitness tests.”

Tommy shoots up into a sitting position. ‘Wait, then what the hell do you call what I was just doing?”

“That was the weapon proficiency testing.”

He flops back down, one arm draped dramatically over his face. Techno nudges him with his foot. “Up, child.”

Groaning all the while, Tommy lurches to his feet. Techno grins at him. “Laps around the field. If you’re not fast enough, I will come after you and hit you.”

Like the teenager he most certainly is, Tommy whines all the way to the edge of the clearing. He lollygags for a while, stalling in a vain attempt to hold off the inevitable. Staring at him, the pink-haired man slowly and menacingly unsheathes his sword from his back. Tommy clearly gets the message, because he starts jogging around the field with his hands held up, capitulating.

_Not fast enough._

Techno follows him slowly, keeping pace easily. Gradually, he increases his tempo, forcing Tommy to speed up or get whacked. This increases lap after lap until Tommy is at an all-out sprint just to stay out of Techno’s reach. Of course, this isn’t fast enough to stop the fabled warrior. With an added burst of speed, Techno catches up to his brother, reaching his side and smacking Tommy in the stomach. He goes down with an _oomph_ ¸ the wind knocked out of him.

Techno’s still breathing evenly.

“What the _fuck_ ,” Tommy wheezes.

Without even acknowledging this, Techno slings his sword back over his shoulder and plops himself down on Tommy’s feet. “Well, as long as you’re on the ground, might as well do some sit-ups.”

Tommy manages thirty-three before his straining attempts into a sitting position cannot beat out the forces of gravity.

_Not enough._

Pull-ups are performed on a low-hanging tree branch, Tommy completing a solid fifteen before his arms give out.

_Not enough._

Sitting down and reaching for his toes leads to Tommy straining to reach his own ankles. For such a lanky child, he’s remarkably inflexible.

_Not enough._

Tommy sprints forty yards in about four-point-nine seconds, by Techno’s timing.

_Not enough._

When it comes time for push-ups, Tommy flops to the ground and into his starting position. Techno’s about to tell him to start, but Tommy interrupts first. “Hey, Techno, if you’re testing me on all these things, how about you prove you can do them too, huh? Push-ups with me, right now. First one out has to do dishes tonight.”

Shrugging, Techno agrees easily. “Alright, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Technoblade never dies.”

“This is push-ups, Blade, not life-or-death. That doesn’t apply.”

“It applies everywhere, Tommy, what are you talking about?”

Techno shifts into position, arms extended, holding a plank easily next to Tommy. He counts down from three, and both brothers quickly bend their arms, chests barely above the ground. Tommy has good form, Techno notes. It’s admirable how long he’s lasting with all these different exercises with very few breaks, but it’s still not enough for Techno. Not until he can go on for long enough with enough strength to keep himself safe. Is that a high standard? Yes. But Techno’s determined to get Tommy to reach it.

He realizes that Tommy’s looking at him strangely, waiting for him to call the upwards position. Techno shakes himself out of his thoughts. “Up.”

Down and up they go, over and over, sometimes staying in the lowered position for a few seconds longer as Techno tries to test Tommy’s mettle. Tommy holds out well, really, he does. There’s not a doubt in Techno’s mind that a significant portion of that endurance comes from sheer competitiveness, but hey, whatever works. Finally, after twenty-eight push-ups, Tommy collapses when the brothers move downwards, his arms giving out beneath him.

“Ow, _fuck_ ,” Tommy groans, his face pressed into the ground. “How the fuck do you do this, Techno?”

Techno smiles at him from his push-up position. “You must train for another one hundred years to defeat me, Tommy.” He continues doing push-ups, falling into an easy rhythm.

Turning his head to the side, Tommy stares at his brother as he casually keeps going like it’s nothing. He stays silent for a few minutes, just watching. “Hey Techno, what’s your record for these things?”

“What do you mean? Like in a minute, in a day, you’ve gotta be more specific here.”

“Oh, sorry for not being a _push-up expert_ , Technoblade. What’s your record for push-ups without stopping?”

Techno pauses from his movement, pushing himself into a sitting position. “I think somewhere around ten thousand? I don’t remember, you’d have to ask Phil.”

Dumbfounded, his jaw hanging open, Tommy splutters, “Ten _thousand_? Techno, what the _fuck_?”

“Get good, child.”

Two weeks of this later and Tommy is still struggling to keep up with his brother. Techno has seen a noticeable improvement to be sure, but it’s not a match for the Blood God himself. It’s clear that this skill difference is weighing on Tommy. His bright enthusiasm from the start of their training has dimmed. He’s disappointed in himself, and it shows.

Today, Tommy’s form has taken a sudden downturn. His swings are halfhearted and lethargic. Techno can tell that something is wrong. So, being himself, after he soundly beats his brother, he addresses it in the only way he knows how.

“Hey, nerd, what’s wrong? You’re doing worse than usual.”

With an angry growl, Tommy flings his wooden sword to the ground and stomps off. _Odd. He’s being more teenager-y than usual._

“Come on, Tommy, don’t tell me you’re _that_ upset about losing a little practice match. I’m sure you’re used to it by now. It shouldn’t be a problem for you!”

He watches, a little bit dumbfounded, as Tommy rushes over to one of the nearby trees and quickly ascends its branches. The teen disappears into the thick canopy before Techno can do anything to stop him. Confused, Techno cautiously follows his brother to the base of the massive oak. He peers upwards into the bright green leaves, but he can’t see anything. “Tommy?”

When he gets no response, he asks again. “Tommy, did I say something wrong?”

A twig is tossed down towards his head but misses and hits the dirt sadly instead. “Go away, Techno.”

“You know I can’t do that, Tommy.”

“Will you at least leave me alone?”

“This isn’t like you. Normally you can’t stop begging for my attention.”

Techno hears a vague mumble from somewhere above him. He can’t pick out the words, though. “I didn’t quite catch that, Tommy.”

“I _said_ , normally you haven’t been beating me up on the daily for two weeks straight.”

“ _You_ asked me to do this.”

“I asked you to help me get better! Not – not make me feel like I’m always going to be the worst.” The last part of Tommy’s sentence gets progressively quieter, more vulnerable.

Oh.

_Oh._

“Tommy-” Techno starts, then cuts himself off and tries again. “Tommy, can I – can I come up there?”

“No,” Tommy replies harshly.

“Alright.” Techno instead plops himself down at the base of the tree. He leans backward, letting his head rest against the rough bark. The grass is cool and soft beneath his fingertips, a nice break from the consistently gritty clearing of trampled dirt or sweaty leather grip of his practice sword. Faintly, he thinks he can see the barest hint of red up above him, but he doesn’t mention it.

The two brothers sit in silence for a while, punctuated occasionally by soft noises from above him that Techno can’t quite identify. Eventually, he starts talking.

“Did I ever tell you about my first time on Hypixel?”

Tommy stays quiet, but that’s fine by Techno. This is a time for his brother to just sit and listen.

“It was a mess, to be honest. Most people were new, I was like, thirteen? Fourteen? Somewhere around there. And I was _tiny_ , and I was surrounded by all these strangers, and it was kind of terrifying. I didn’t know anybody. But I saw this little sign for an arena called “SkyWars.” So I wandered over, being a young curious child as I was, and I went in, and I tried it out. I played my first ever round. Do you know what happened, Tommy?”

“What?” comes the muffled reply.

“I got owned. Completely, utterly destroyed. I had no idea what I was doing! And I was a kid! Someone ran over to my starting island right off the bat and beat me up. And for a while there, just sitting and watching the rest of the round play out, I thought it wouldn’t be worth it. I thought, ‘alright, I’ve tried this, and I’m never doing it again.’ I mean, I did terribly! But then I did try again. And I lasted just a little bit longer. And again, and again. Every time I lost, but every time I was doing just a little bit better than the last. I kept going, and I went home and wrapped up my cuts and bruises, and I kept learning and growing. It took me years, Tommy, literal years before I got as good as I am today.”

He hears a small rustling in the branches above him but pays it no mind and continues talking. “You’ve only been at this for two weeks, but you’re doing better than you started, I promise. It’s hard to tell when you’re looking at yourself, but as the person teaching you? As someone with experience? As your brother? I’ve seen you improving. It’s going to take time. Certainly a lot longer than two weeks. But you will get there. I’m not going to stop until you do.”

Tommy’s weight pressed into his side. “Promise?” he asks in a voice much more timid than usual. He sniffles once.

Techno nudges his brother’s arm. “Promise. You know Technoblade always keeps to his word.”

“Thanks, Techno.”

“No problem, kid.”

Months pass. Tommy has eased into his exile with Wilbur, has turned Pogtopia into a home for the pair of them, and his training with Techno has turned into a regular routine. Techno will sometimes peek into the ravine and see Tommy practicing sword thrusts against the air. He duels nobody, but he gives all the effort and determination he would have if he were facing Dream himself. It brings a smile to Techno’s face, even if he’ll never let his kid brother know. He always sneaks back out those nights and pushes Tommy just a little bit softer the day after.

Tommy himself has improved by leaps and bounds, even if he’s not entirely aware of it. His spars with Techno last far longer than two moves, going on for a solid minute before Tommy yields. He’s built muscle, can keep pace with Techno for a while as he runs, and when Techno passes Tommy a mallet to pound an enchantment into armor of his own, Tommy doesn’t drop it like he did all that time ago. Instead, he hammers away at the hard netherite, forcing the magic into the metal, and after hours of work at it, he has a pair of greaves that glimmer blue with enchantment. The teen is sweating, sure, but he’s done it.

Today, though, Techno is giving him the day off. It’s the first proper snowfall of the winter and Tommy’s been acting so excited by it that Techno doesn’t have the heart, no matter how much he may deny it, to ruin that with a day full of training and nothing else.

So instead, Techno lounges against a tree, its branches bare, and watches as the others start a snowball fight. It’s Tommy and Tubbo against Quackity, Niki, and Wilbur, and the two boys are putting up a fair fight for being outnumbered.

Tubbo has built a surprisingly massive snow fort to defend the smaller team, and he and Tommy are holed up inside while the other team prowls around it, looking for ways in and lobbing snowballs at the occasional heads that peek up.

For a brief moment, amongst the muffling effect of the snow, there is silence. The makeshift battlefield comes to a standstill. Techno almost feels like he should hold his breath in anticipation but dismisses that thought. He watches intently, though. His battle-hardened instincts are telling him something is about to happen.

Wilbur, Quackity, and Niki pause in their stalking of the boundaries of the fort.

Suddenly, a pair of maddened screams. Techno shoots to his feet, ready to fight something, but instead of the threat he’s expecting, Tommy and Tubbo come bursting through the front wall of their fort, snow spewing out in chunks in front of them. They’re holding snowballs high in their hands, releasing their fearsome battle-cries in tandem with targeted shots at their opponents.

Wilbur gets nailed in the face by one of Tommy’s snowballs. He goes down with a startled shout. Niki and Quackity, quickly realizing the danger they’re in, turn to desperately cobble whatever snow they have into ramshackle snowballs. They throw them at the teens, but the snow isn’t packed together well-enough in their haste, and they fall apart midair. Tommy and Tubbo keep up their volley, and though many of the projectiles fly wide in the boys’ enthusiastic fervor, Niki still gets smacked in the stomach and three hit Quackity on the back when he turns tail and tries to run.

Unfortunately, with all the wild abandon with which snowballs are flung, one hits Techno on the side of his head. He splutters, wiping bits of powder off his face and shaking out his hair. Everybody else stops.

Tommy, the poor soul who threw the snowball, stands stock-still. His face goes as white as the snow around him.

Slowly, dramatically, Techno slings off his cloak and lets it drop to the ground.

Tommy gulps.

Techno takes one slow step forward. Then another.

Tommy takes two quick ones back.

Suddenly, Techno drops into a sprint. Tommy yelps, calling to Tubbo, “Tactical retreat!” and running back into the snow fort.

“Get back here, child!”

“Never!” Tommy retorts. He scrambles to push bits of snow back into place, costing him valuable time, but he makes up for it when Tubbo barrels in from the side. The shorter boy tackles Techno to the ground before quickly scrabbling to shove snow down Techno’s shirt. Techno wrestles with Tubbo on the ground, twisting so that he’s no longer pinned, but then Tommy jumps on top, yelling, “Yeah, bitch!”

Together, the two teens tag-team Techno. He flails and thrashes with all the drama he can call up, before suddenly sitting up with the two boys half-dangling from his arms. He stands up, and though Tommy and Tubbo are no longer short enough to hang off the ground like this, he still swings around in circles like they are.

All of them are laughing now, tromping through thick snow and doing their best not to fall over from their own theatrical play-fighting. Wilbur and Quackity latch on as well, and together the group does their level best to take down the titan Technoblade. He roars and stays upright.

“Niki!” Quackity calls, his words interspersed with helpless giggles, “Help us!”

“Please!” Tubbo adds on.

“He’s too strong!” Wilbur laughs.

Niki delicately tiptoes through the snow to the tower of people somehow still moving forwards. She stops directly in front of Techno, hands clasped behind her back and swinging slightly. The two of them make eye contact for a moment.

Niki’s hand darts forward and taps Techno on the nose.

With a mighty cry, Techno collapses. Tommy protests from where he’s squished beneath his brother’s weight, but Techno pays it no mind. He reaches one arm upwards to the sky, gritting out his final words.

“Wilbur,” he says.

“Yes, Techno?” Wilbur quickly catches onto the act, putting on an appropriately emotional face. _Good._ They’re both ignoring the fact that Wilbur brutally sided against Technoblade in the scuffle.

“I – I need you – to know something.”

“What is it, Technoblade?”

“You – you gotta know…”

Everybody waits with bated breath and badly stifled giggles. Which is rude, in Techno’s opinion.

“Tommy…”

“Tommy is a child.”

With that final declaration, Techno lets his arm drop to the ground. He releases a small ‘bleh’ and sticks his tongue out of his mouth.

“No!” Wilbur shouts.

“No!” Tommy cries, for entirely different reasons.

Surrounded by the joy of his friends and family, Techno is happy. Even if he is fake-dead.

The time has come. The moment Tommy has been training for since he first came to Technoblade all those months ago. Techno hates that his little brother is fighting, still hates it, but he can’t stop it. All he can do is support him in every way he can.

A duel.

Sapnap.

Dream’s right-hand man.

A well-known killer of pets.

Tommy.

Technoblade’s little brother.

Who lost many pets to Sapnap’s hand.

This is how it began:

Tommy stole Sapnap’s fish, Mars.

Sapnap stole Tommy’s horse, Juorse.

Juorse died.

Mars did not.

Tommy wants revenge.

Sapnap wants revenge.

They agree to a duel, just one on one.

This is how it goes:

Technoblade sits on the sidelines at Eret’s museum. Jack, George, and Dream are all in the audience with him.

Though the museum isn’t particularly well-set-up for a fight, the solid stone floor is well-worn and the area is clear. They’ll make it work.

He watches as Sapnap suits up, raising his hands towards the audience and encouraging their cheers. He’s confident, cocky, even, as he grabs a sword and twirls it in his hand. Sapnap is clearly showing off for his friends. There is no doubt in Techno’s mind that Sapnap is sure of his win.

He watches as Tommy suits up. In contrast with his opponent, he is quiet. He doesn’t address the audience at all. He carefully slides each piece of armor into place, properly securing the iron pieces that they’ve agreed to duel with. Tommy walks over to the rack of swords and grabs two, weighing them in his hands before apparently deciding that the one in his left hand is better. He doesn’t swing it around. Doesn’t give any fancy flair or extra pizazz for the audience watching them. The teen moves into position and stands neutrally. His sword is hanging in his right hand, grip casual and relaxed.

Sapnap notices the difference in Tommy’s behavior. “What’s up, Tommy? Afraid you’re gonna _lose_?”

Tommy shrugs noncommittally. “Nah. I’m just waiting for you to finish up your little show over there and actually fight me.”

With an annoyed snort, Sapnap tosses a glance over towards his friends, one that says, “Can you believe this kid?” before swaggering into his place across from Tommy. “Yeah, right, kid. You’ll be changing your tune when I pummel you into the ground.” He’s fishing for a reaction from Tommy, trying to get him angry and sloppy.

It doesn’t work. Tommy simply hums again. He doesn’t move an inch from his position.

Sapnap readies his sword, holding it threateningly in the air in front of him. With a loud cry, he charges forwards. It almost reminds Techno of what Tommy looked like back when they first sparred. Of course, he knows that Sapnap knows better than this.

Rather than swing brashly across Tommy’s torso from above, like his high-up sword position implies, Sapnap feints and comes at Tommy from his left. The kid isn’t fazed. Lightning-quick, he twists out of the way, simply avoiding Sapnap’s blow altogether.

The older dueller grits his teeth as he corrects himself. Tommy doesn’t make any moves to strike, though he clearly has the opportunity to. Instead, he stays in that damningly neutral pose, sword relaxed by his side.

“Not gonna fight me, man? What are you, scared?”

“Bored, more like. I thought you were supposed to be good at this?”

Sapnap growls and launches himself at the teen again, flying forward with a heavy slash towards Tommy’s shoulder. Once again, Tommy simply dodges, dancing backward and out of the way.

Technoblade laughs. Oh, he knows exactly what the kid is doing. Make Sapnap angry, make him tired, make him sloppy, make him lose.

It’s a great plan. He’s proud.

The fight continues like this for a while. Sapnap chases Tommy around the arena, slashing textbook-perfect at every place on Tommy’s body that he can, but every time, the teen evades it. Tommy hasn’t swung his sword once this entire fight. All he’s done is move his feet.

They’ve run circles around the replica of the camarvan before Tommy finally engages.

He’s just darted around a corner to escape another one of Sapnap’s crippling blows when the older man suddenly recovers much quicker than usual, jabbing his sword forwards at the Tommy’s retreating back. For once, it’s not a move that Tommy tries to dodge. Instead, without even looking back, he finally lifts his sword and parries Sapnap’s sloppy stab away.

The duel stops for a second as Sapnap lifts his jaw from the ground. Techno can only imagine the thoughts running through his mind. How did this kid, who used to be shit at fighting, manage to block a sword _behind his back_? Really, if Techno hadn’t been there for every step of the process, he might be surprised, too.

But Techno’s been there for months. He’s watched Tommy get beaten down, over and over, and yet still pick himself up from the ground and get into a shaky ready position. He’s seen Tommy practice for hours on end to perfect one single move, then repeat the process the next day. He’s become very aware of Tommy’s sheer drive and determination.

Sapnap doesn’t stand a chance.

The duel changes in tempo very quickly after that.

Tommy bites back blow for blow with Sapnap. He gives Sapnap the courtesy of recovering from his shock before the duel resumes. Sapnap tries to regain some of his dignity by slashing upwards at Tommy’s face – a dirty move – but Tommy leans backward and deflects Sapnap’s sword to the side. He slashes at the older man’s bicep, scoring a deep cut into the junction between armor plates.

Sapnap hisses sharply. Lucky for him, it wasn’t the sword arm that Tommy hit.

Techno knows that Tommy wants to draw this out. He’s having fun.

Tommy stabs again, this time at Sapnap’s thigh. It bounces off the iron greave there, but there’ll be a bruise there tomorrow.

Sword flashing, Sapnap grits his teeth and sweeps his leg out to knock Tommy’s feet out from under him.

The kid jumps over it.

“What the _hell_ , man?”

“I gotta tell you, Sapnap, I really thought you were better than this.”

He tries again, this time jabbing at Tommy’s midsection, but that’s really his own mistake. Tommy spins out of the way, tosses his sword to his left hand, and, in a devastating imitation of Technoblade when they first fought, slides his sword neatly to a stop directly in front of Sapnap’s neck.

Techno watches the dark-haired man gulp as a thin rivulet of blood runs down his throat.

Tommy holds the sword in one hand and inspects his nails with the other. It’s devastatingly relaxed like this fight means nothing to Tommy at all.

Sweaty, panting, and tired, Sapnap still growls and shoves the sword away with his hand. It cuts into his palm, but the man’s probably too incensed to care. He pulls his sword upwards across Tommy’s torso.

Deflected.

Sapnap tries going for Tommy’s leg.

Parried.

The shoulder.

Blocked.

Tommy stands there as Sapnap tries to hit him, effortlessly blocking him every time with his non-dominant hand. He moves from guard to guard with ease, always where Sapnap is aiming before his opponent finishes his swing.

Techno’s so proud of his little brother.

Finally, after a desperate downwards swing directly at Tommy’s head, the teen hums. He blocks Sapnap’s strike with both hands on the hilt of his sword, twists the weapon around, and handily disarms his opponent. With Sapnap now weaponless, Tommy kicks at the back of his knees, sending him to the floor, before leveling his sword at Sapnap’s chest.

They stand in this final position for several moments, Sapnap breathing heavily. Tommy isn’t even winded.

Sapnap gazes at the sword pointed at him, before sliding his gaze upwards to the teen. This kid, who is three years younger than him, who just soundly beat him like it was nothing.

He doesn’t move from his position on his back, his weight resting on his elbows, as Tommy flicks the sword away from Sapnap and tucks it under his elbow as he starts sliding off his armor. “Well, good fight, man. Even if it wasn’t as much of a challenge as I was hoping for, it was fun fighting someone new. Now, I’ll be nice and let you have your fish back anyway. I’m cool like that. But,” and Tommy’s eyes glint with a deadly undertone, “I do hope that we won’t hear about any _issues_ with you and people’s pets in the future. Alright, Sapnap?”

From his defeated position, Sapnap stays silent.

“Alright. See you all around!” Tommy drops the shoddy iron armor into a pile in front of the chest he retrieved it from and places the sword back into its resting place in the rack. “Come on, Technoblade!”

“Well, boys,” Techno says, standing up. He pats Dream on the shoulder. “That’s my cue to go. Good show, by the way!”

He jogs to catch up with his little brother, who, despite his calm persona during the fight, is practically vibrating with excitement. Tommy manages to keep it in until they pass beyond the perimeter of Eret’s museum, where he then lets out a joyous, “Whoop!”

Tommy turns to Techno, his hands flying wildly through the air. “Did you see me, Techno? I did it! I actually did it!”

Smiling down at his brother, Techno watches his brother celebrate. He pats Tommy on the back, to which the teen responds with a startled ‘oof.’

“Yeah kid, you sure did.”

The sun rises on a new day before them. Techno and Tommy are in their usual clearing, swords held at the ready, matching grins on their faces.

“You ready for this, Blade?” Tommy taunts.

“I sure am, child.”

“Are you really? Because I will say, I had a hell of a teacher.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did. But no teacher can prepare you to face me. Technoblade never dies!”

“I’m about to break your streak, old man!”

“Bring it on!”

“Yeah, bitch!”

They stare each other down for a few seconds, sizing up the battlefield and their opponent.

At the same instant, their back feet twist and launch them forwards. The brothers fly through the air at each other, swords meeting midair with a clash of metal.

**Author's Note:**

> Look at that! I wrote a fic that isn't sad! For once!  
> If that's not character development from me I don't know what is.


End file.
